How Do You Like Them Apples?
by Tango1
Summary: Phantom of the Opera, in a somewhat... heightened form. Written in 2007 on a wave of adrenaline after first seeing the West End show. Inspired by Cleolinda's Movies in 15 minutes. Enjoy!


DISCLAIMER: I own nothing and nobody. This is for entertainment purposes only; keep out of reach of children, throw away uneaten portion after seven days.

SUMMARY: The Phantom of the Opera in a somewhat... heightened form. Written back in 2007 and inspired by my first experience of the West End show, and by Cleolinda's Movies in 15 minutes parodies.

RATING: G, unless you're really sheltered. And then, still G - innocence is a liability.

CHALLENGE: Spot the pop culture references. ;-)

* * *

 **How do you like them apples?**  
by Tango (yes, these things do happen)

AUCTION  
It was a dark and stormy night – the kind of night when all Paris goes bargain-basement shopping for vintage theatre props.

AUCTIONEER:  
And yet another piece of junk – sold! To Rrraaooolle, Vicomte de Chagny. *Portentous pause* Remember that name, Audience. Now, who wants this mouldy poster and a serving tray, complete with tastefully finished set of matched human skulls? The ideal accompaniment to any tea party!

Raoul restrains himself, but someone else succumbs.

AUCTIONEER:  
And now for the piece de resistance! A barrel organ… shaped like a monkey!

BUYERS:  
Whatever.

AUCTIONEER:  
In Persian robes! Playing the cymbals!

BUYERS:  
Meh.

AUCTIONEER:  
Found rotting in the vaults of the theatre! In the lowest, dampest, most unpleasant basement you can imagine!

BUYERS:  
Ohhh! But wait – wasn't the basement trashed by the mob thirty years ago?

AUCTIONEER:  
Er… The mob didn't want this one.

MONKEY:  
*moves around a bit to the sound of the synthesiser* (Translation: God damn it, I am the Genie, er, the Phantom of the Barrel Organ! Trapped in here for decades and still they deny me!)

MME GIRY:  
Oh very well. Give it here.

MONKEY/PHANTOM:  
(Hmm, if I just wriggle a bit more, perhaps I can use my telekinetic powers of evil to convince Chagny to buy me and take me to Christine's grave! At last I shall be reunited with my beloved!)

RAOUL:  
I guess I could-

AUCTIONEER:  
SOLD! To Rrrraoul! *shoves monkey aside* He's all yours.

RAOUL:  
God damn my eBay addiction. Oi! Give that here.

The assistant, who had been about to add the monkey to Raoul's other impulse purchases, returns it to him.

RAOUL:  
Infernal creature! Twenty years from now you'll still be playing on all our graves!

MONKEY/PHANTOM:  
(That's right, and now you will believe you must take me to her grave!)

AUCTIONEER:  
…blah blah blah chandelier blah blah blah ELECTRIC LIGHT!

A storm of neon tubing erupts behind the auctioneer. The consequences of wiring a faulty gas appliance for electricity rupture the fabric of space-time, and we are transported thirty years into the past. Raoul, the monkey, and all other participants are instantaneously reduced to ashes.

AUDIENCE:  
*gapes in awe as the set assembles itself around them, complete with plastic chandelier dangling over their heads*

MUSIC:  
Ddadadaadummm! Bam bam wham bam! KAZAAM!

AUDIENCE:  
*enthusiastic applause*

CARLOTTA:  
*unintelligible, but enthusiastic singing at a corpseless head*

AUDIENCE:  
*enthusiastic applause*

CHORUS:  
Remember that mouldy poster from Hannibal? Well, YOU'RE ALL IN IT!

AUDIENCE:  
*enthusiastic applause*

CHORUS:  
Really! And now – with feasting and dancing and props, we will all celebrate whatever it is Carlotta is singing about to the bloodied head!

PIANGI:  
Rrrrrrrrrrromaaaaa!

LEFEVRE:  
Here are your new managers. Love them as you never loved me. Toodles!

NEW MANAGERS:  
This is soooo cool!

GIRY:  
Out of my way, infidels! *thumps cane in manner of Moses bringing water forth from a rock* Christine, how nice of you to join us, a mere two hours into full dress rehearsal!

CHRISTINE:  
*does a couple of steps on pointe* Ouch.

MANAGERS:  
Who's the chick wearing the exact same wig as every other ballet girl, but in a darker colour?

GIRY:  
Christine. Isn't she lovely? And she comes with her very own hairbrush and limited edition gift certificate! Smile when you're spoken to, Christine.

CHRISTINE:  
*smile*

Meg draws Christine out of the spotlight, smiling charmingly at the managers.

MANAGERS:  
Hey, isn't there an awesome song for what's her name in Act something or other? How about it, Carlotta?

CARLOTTA:  
There sure is, darling boy, and it goes with my verrrry sexy dance of the seven veils – want to see?

ANDRE:  
Yes yes yes!

*Carlotta sings and flirts with managers, drawing a long veil behind her*

FIRMIN:  
Only one veil, though.

CARLOTTA:  
Budget cuts.

Just as Carlotta hits her stride, the backdrop collapses, to much general screaming at the 120 decibel level. Sound system squeaks pitifully; chandelier gives a plastic thunk or two in warning.

CARLOTTA:  
I'm so outta here.

PIANGI:  
Wait for me!

MANAGERS:  
Bugger. So! Who wants to sing Carlotta's role tonight?

REYER:  
Ahaha, Monsieur Lefevre didn't mention one teensy weensy problem. Carlotta is the only singer we've got. Had got. Gotten.

MANAGERS:  
One singer?! Is this or is this not an opera house?!

GIRY:  
Budget cuts. You'll need to make some too, if you're to keep paying twenty grand to the Phantom for venue hire.

MANAGERS:  
Who? What?! Why?! HOW?!

MEG:  
Christine can sing it.

MANAGERS:  
Her? She can't even dance!

MEG:  
That's because she spends all her time singing.

GIRY:  
Let her sing, or bad things will happen. Expensive bad things, involving lighting fixtures.

CHANDELIER:  
*twunks ominously*

MANAGERS:  
All right. Two bars, that's all she gets.

CHRISTINE:  
But I don't think I can…

GIRY:  
Resistance is futile! *Thumps cane*

Christine bursts into song. After the first verse she's into it, after the second she has remembered that primadonnas get their own dressing room, chocolates, poodles, and male visitors after midnight. Giry and the dressers pin her into Carlotta's costume, which improbably fits her, and she prances onto the stage before a phantom audience, waving her scarf around joyfully.

CHRISTINE:  
Thank you, thank you very much! Really, you're too too kind! How sweet of you to keep applauding my genius!

RAOUL (in his box):  
Christine! What good work, I would have never recognised her with the new nose!

CHRISTINE:  
Thank you, thank you very much!

The show is finished. Giry congratulates Christine, chastises the ballet girls, and we adjourn to Christine's dressing room and the ballet practice room - both, at the same time. Those with and interest in ballet can look to the left, those with an interest in perving on girls in their dressing rooms can look to the right. The Audience pretends to look to the left.

CHRISTINE:  
I don't know why I'm so scared. But I am. And that makes me angry!

VOICE/PHANTOM:  
I don't know why I'm so angry. But I am! And that makes me scared.

RAOUL:  
Lotte! Long time no see. *tickles her*

CHRISTINE:  
Sweetums! Honeycakes! Love of my life!

RAOUL:  
How about dinner?

CHRISTINE:  
Okay!

RAOUL:  
I promise, I won't keep you up late.

CHRISTINE (crestfallen):  
You won't?

VOICE/PHANTOM:  
Enough of that. We have work to do!

CHRISTINE:  
Right. Sorry. Forgot myself there. So…?

Mirror opens; Christine steps through. The scene changes to show a series of ramps up and down the stage; Christine and the Phantom travel along them, until Christine is left behind.

PHANTOM:  
Oh crap. Forgot the girl. *goes back, takes her hand, and drags her to the boat*

CHRISTINE:  
Now really, this is absurd! I am missing a perfectly good dinner for … ohhh!

She has noticed the misty lake and magic candles rising from it.

CHRISTINE:  
Neat.

PHANTOM:  
Yeah. Wait till you see my boat.

CHRISTINE:  
You mean the one stuck on that candelabra over there?

PHANTOM:  
Damn that Buquet, he promised he had fixed it! Oh well, on with the show!

The Phantom sings. Christine attempts to kiss him, but is repeatedly rebuffed.

CHRISTINE:  
You do realise it's not just dinner that I'm missing out on? A bit of cooperation would be nice!

PHANTOM:  
I knew you would appreciate the tortured strains of my music! I put my whole soul, my life, my very being into this opera, Christine, and only you can sing it! Imagine it, you will be dressed in this charming number by Chanel which you can see demonstrated here on my handmade dressmaker's dummy…

DUMMY:  
Ta-daa!

CHRISTINE:  
*faints, mostly from hunger*

PHANTOM:  
Hmm. Perhaps tomorrow then. Here, sleep on this cold damp floor for a while.

CHRISTINE:  
I bet Raoul is eating prawns, and asparagus with hollandaise sauce, and chocolate… *falls asleep*

While she sleeps, we are treated to a little horror show by Buquet, who shows no sign of remorse for not having fixed the boat.

BUQUET:  
Parchment, I say! Yellow parchment!

BALLET GIRLS:  
AAAARGGH!

GIRY:  
Keep your hands at the level of your eyes, and off my merchandise, errr – students.

And now back to the lair.

PHANTOM:  
*lost in composing*

CHRISTINE:  
*wakes up*

LIGHTS:  
*blush a suggestive golden hue*

CHRISTINE:  
Hmm… Wasn't there supposed to be a boat?

PHANTOM:  
*lost in composing*

CHRISTINE:  
…and a – man?

PHANTOM:  
*lost in composing*

CHRISTINE:  
Hey, are you my secret admirer? Are you going to bring me chocolates and poodles and visit me after midnight in my dressing-room? And who are you, anyway?

She yanks off his mask in delighted anticipation.

PHANTOM:  
AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!

CHRISTINE:  
Oh shit.

PHANTOM:  
This is the worst day of what passes for my miserable, twisted, stunted, cold, lonely, woefully incomplete LIFE! And now you must share it with me!

CHRISTINE:  
Um. Sorry? *passes him the mask*

PHANTOM:  
*puts on mask sulkily*

CHRISTINE:  
Can we eat now?

PHANTOM:  
No! It's time to return.

Meanwhile, in the managers' office...

ANDRE (or FIRMIN):  
According to the media, we're the most successful management team ever.

FIRMIN (or ANDRE):  
Yeah! Except we used to have one singer…

ANDRE (or FIRMIN):  
… and now we don't have any. Plus, we're a dancer short.

FIRMIN:  
How do we explain that to the investors?

ANDRE (or FIRMIN):  
Budget cuts?

CARLOTTA:  
*arrives in state, accompanied by Piangi and followed by her entire entourage*

FIRMIN (or ANDRE):  
Well, that's the singer shortage sorted.

ANDRE (or FIRMIN):  
Pity she's the expensive one, though.

CARLOTTA:  
I am not here to sing! I am here to file a harassment suit against whoever sent me this – this – this Howler!

PHANTOM'S NOTE:  
*makes musical threats of extortion*

RAOUL:  
*arrives in a state*

CARLOTTA:  
A-ha! It was the Vicomte, Christine's lover!

RAOUL:  
Me?! It's these two monsters who have imprisoned her under their wings!

MANAGERS:  
Us?!

ALL:  
*Compare notes*

GIRY:  
Christine came this morning by return of post.

MANAGERS:  
Haha, we're in luck! You're history, Carlotta! Bring in the younger, cheaper, prettier model!

GIRY:  
I sent her home.

MANAGERS:  
What?!

MEG:  
She needed rest.

RAOUL:  
Oh god! She has been deflowered! Debased! Debauched! Never again will she sing…

GIRY:  
Oh yes she will. Tonight, and tomorrow night, and every night to the end of time! Thus speaketh the Phantom. *bangs cane*

MANAGERS:  
You mean this – this Phantom, he wants her to sing?

GIRY:  
Oh yes. Tonight and tomorrow night and-

MANAGERS:  
Carlotta, darling! Diva! Light of our collective lives! Forgive us! Return!

CARLOTTA:  
That's more like it.

Premiere of Il Muto. Mozart is spinning in his grave, much like the Phantom is currently doing in his lair. Christine is stuck in the silent role.

MOZART-ESQUE CAST:  
*pantomime for three sopranos and a man with horns*

MANAGERS:  
This is soooooooo cool. We get a box and everything. Say, how come it was free? I thought we had a sell-out show!

RAOUL:  
Quiet, you're missing the best bit.

CHRISTINE:  
*pretends to smooch Carlotta*

AUDIENCE:  
*laughter of approval*

PHANTOM:  
Who sat in my box?! Who ate all my porridge?!

MANAGERS:  
*gulp*

CARLOTTA:  
*croak*

GIRY:  
Told you so.

PHANTOM:  
Oh and also? You're a stagehand short! Mwahahaha! MWAHAHAHA! MWAH! Hey, wait a minute, Christine! Where do you think you're going?

MANAGERS:  
Did he just blow us a kiss?

CHRISTINE:  
To the roof, Raoul!

RAOUL:  
To the roof!

PHANTOM:  
To the roof!

AUDIENCE:  
To the roof!

MANAGERS:  
Sit. Down. It's called – uh – postmodernism. That's right. What you have experienced was not a the dangling corpse of an inebriated carpenter interrupting a ballet, but a clever comment on the false sense of security man creates for himself by the—

Meanwhile on the roof.

CHRISTINE:  
And I am telling *you*, he's real! I've been there! I've seen 'im!

RAOUL:  
Oh Christine! Where is your careful elocution?

CHRISTINE:  
I always revert to my peasant origins under pressure, you of all people ought to know that, Monsieur Childhood Sweetheart.

RAOUL:  
Oh. Peasant you say? Uh – you know, I don't think my parents will be too happy about…

CHRISTINE:  
Say you LOVE me! Or else!

RAOUL:  
But, Christine, I really…

CHRISTINE:  
*kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiss*

RAOUL:  
Christine, I lo-o-o-o-ve you…

CHRISTINE:  
Right. Bring your best horses and a mink stole, six pm sharp.

RAOUL:  
And then you'll be beside me, and I can – you know – we can …

CHRISTINE:  
Every night.

RAOUL:  
Promise?

CHRISTINE:  
Cross my heart and hope to die.

PHANTOM:  
Take that, world! *crashes chandelier*

...Six months later.

MASQUERADE CROWD LED BY FIGURE OF A MONKEY PLAYING THE CYMBALS:  
*psychedelic prance*

CHRISTINE:  
Look, your future bride!

RAOUL:  
May I remind you that I've been *looking* for six months, it's now Halloween, and we are we still here. Why, Christine? Why?

CHRISTINE:  
Because I'm worth it.

ALL:  
*mad waltz*

PHANTOM:  
Greetings, earthlings.

ALL:  
*stop and stare*

PHANTOM:  
I come bearing gifts. Well, one. But it's really, really good, I promise, I spent all this time writing it and even though you cannot possibly appreciate the tortured strains of my twisted soul that have been ripped from my very spirit, I will condescend to let you stage this anyway, for a very reasonable fee of only 20,000 francs a month, fees and charges apply.

CHRISTINE:  
Is there a part for me?

RAOUL:  
Hey!

PHANTOM:  
What is this cheap jewellery in your cleavage? Never mind, I need you for pages 14 through 23, and again from 25 to 80, then again-

CHRISTINE:  
Fourteen?! And what happens in the first 13 pages?

PHANTOM:  
That's the overture.

CHRISTINE:  
Hmph. Not interested.

PHANTOM:  
I don't recall asking you. You will sing for meeeeee!

He vanishes in a blinding flash of light.

AUDIENCE:  
*rapid blinking*

RAOUL:  
Madame Giry! What do you know about all this?

GIRY:  
Nothing. Except, this one time, in freak camp, there was a keeper who didn't lock his cell and his freak escaped.

RAOUL:  
And…?

GIRY:  
And let that be a lesson to you: keep your eyes on your freaks and your hand at the level of your eyes!

RAOUL:  
I … see.

GIRY:  
Thus speaketh the Phantom. *sweeps past*

RAOUL:  
*scratches head* You mean, we need to cage our freak… Oh! Eureka! Haha! I have it!

Back in the managers' office.

CHRISTINE:  
Nope. Sorry. No way Jose. Not doing it.

MANAGERS:  
But Miss whatever your name is! This is our chance to plug a 20,000 franc hole in our budget!

RAOUL:  
Just think, Christine – one number in his horrid opera, and then we're free! Flying as far as we can!

CHRISTINE:  
Excuse me, gentlemen. I need to pay my respects to my father. Who, you may remember, is dead.

ALL:  
*respectful silence*

CHRISTINE:  
And don't think about following me!

At the cemetery. Christine is throwing things at the tomb of her father.

CHRISTINE:  
All those wasted years! All that training! And for what?! For what, I ask you, when all I get is a lousy cubic zirconium and only one single mink stole and 13 pages of overture!

PHANTOM:  
Wandering child, so lost, so helpless…

CHRISTINE:  
I hope you're here to apologise.

PHANTOM:  
Yearning for my guidance…

RAOUL:  
There she is, talking to herself again! Right, Christine, I'm taking you home to bed.

CHRISTINE:  
Bed?

PHANTOM:  
Just you wait till you see this opera.

Rehearsal for Don Juan.

PIANO:  
*plays by itself*

SINGERS:  
*sing by themselves*

PHANTOM (exhausted):  
Right, that does it. Next time I'm building a puppet theatre.

Premiere of Don Juan Triumphant.

CHIEF OF POLICE:  
Have you secured the premises? Cordoned off the perimeter? Barred all the doors?

POLICEMEN:  
Yessir.

MANAGERS and RAOUL:  
Perfect! Bring in the audience!

CHIEF OF POLICE:  
Um – how?

AUDIENCE:  
No worries, we're already here.

PHANTOM:  
Me too!

POLICEMAN:  
He's here! *shoots a stagehand*

MANAGERS:  
Hey! They don't grow on trees, you know!

RAOUL:  
As this theatre's only surviving sponsor, I object to the wanton destruction of employees. And besides, you'll spook Christine and then she'll pull out, and then where would we be?

PHANTOM:  
In a sealed, locked theatre with meeeeeee! MWAHAHAHAHA!

OVERTURE:  
*Screech! Wheeeeaaaiiiinee! Squeaaaaaak!*

AUDIENCE:  
The Phantom was Shostakovich?

PIANGI (as DON JUAN):  
Blah blah cross-dressing blah blah forget myself and LAUGH!

CHRISTINE (as AMINTA):  
I will sing, but I will not enjoy it.

PHANTOM (as DON JUAN):  
Yes you will.

CHRISTINE:  
*tries to bite into an apple*

PHANTOM:  
*snatches apple away*

CHRISTINE:  
Hey!

PHANTOM:  
Sing first. Eat later. Always been my motto.

CHRISTINE:  
Well, that explains it!

PHANTOM:  
Meaning?

CHRISTINE:  
An apple a day, and you might have been perfectly fine!

PHANTOM:  
I am perfectly fine now! I am singing in my own beloved opera, born from the tortured strains of my very soul, why wouldn't I be fine? Anyway, here, have a drink, it'll calm your nerves before the big event.

CHRISTINE:  
Ha. It's you who should be drinking, Erik.

PHANTOM:  
Did you just call me – Oh. Oh, my.

CHRISTINE:  
*feels him up from behind*

PHANTOM:  
Can I have that drink now?

CHRISTINE:  
Sorry, time's a-wasting! *yanks off his mask*

MASK:  
*thwack!*

AUDIENCE:  
Ohhh! Wow!

PHANTOM:  
Why, Christine? WHYYYYYYYY?

CHRISTINE:  
You know, I'm not sure…

They drag each other off the stage, kicking and screaming.

RAOUL:  
Wait for me!

GIRY:  
Keep your hand at the level of your eyes!

RAOUL:  
Thanks. Thanks, that's real helpful. And convincing. NOT!

GIRY:  
Thus speaketh the Phantom! *thumps cane*

RAOUL:  
Ah well, that completely changes things. Here goes nothing! *Raises hands to the level of his eyes, and jumps into lake*

LAKE:  
*gulp*

AUDIENCE:  
*gasp*

MANAGERS:  
Did she just drown our only source of cashflow?! And is that…

BALLET GIRLS:  
Piangi! He's been strangled!

MEG:  
The Phantom of the Opera! AAAAAAAARGGGH!

MANAGERS:  
We're ruined!

Meanwhile in the coldest, dampest, most unpleasant basement you can possibly imagine…

PHANTOM:  
My precious, irreplaceable, agonisingly soul-searing opera! *strokes pages of score, which for some reason are back in his lair* Never again shall it have a chance to see the light of day, no never again, never… Whoa.

CHRISTINE:  
*storms onstage, wearing the Wedding Dress from the doll*

PHANTOM:  
Don't forget the ring. The Vicomte paid good money for it.

DRESSMAKER'S DUMMY:  
Never have I been this humiliated in my life. Dismembered and practically naked!

AUDIENCE:  
Well, at least it's wasn't inflatable…

CHRISTINE:  
You, you – you… You don't just look like this! You *are* like this! All the way through to your sick, twisted, miserable soul!

PHANTOM:  
Well, hello and welcome to the program! And you know what? It really, really sucks! Oh look, here's your little friend.

RAOUL:  
*emerges from lake* Hey, is that my ring?

PHANTOM:  
Monsieur, you are dripping on my carpet.

RAOUL:  
Oh, sorry.

PUNJAB LASSO:  
Wheeee!

RAOUL:  
*strangled sound*

PHANTOM:  
Gotcha. (To Christine) Continue, do. You were saying – my twisted soul?

CHRISTINE:  
You're mad!

PHANTOM:  
C'est moi.

CHRISTINE:  
Pitiful!

PHANTOM:  
Oh yes.

CHRISTINE:  
Deformed!

PHANTOM:  
So my mother told me.

CHRISTINE:  
A clinging, desperate creature of darkness!

PHANTOM:  
This is doing nothing for my self-esteem. Choose: him, or me! A difficult choice, I know, but surely you are capable of –

CHRISTINE:  
*smoooooch*

PHANTOM:  
Oh. Oh, my…

CHRISTINE:  
*hug*

PHANTOM:  
…God—

CHRISTINE:  
*censored*

PHANTOM:  
—ddess.

CHRISTINE:  
I know.

PHANTOM:  
You – me – it – they – was that? – whoa.

CHRISTINE:  
…Yeah.

RAOUL:  
Hey! People!

CHRISTINE (to the PHANTOM):  
I'm still going to leave, you know.

PHANTOM (dazed):  
Uh-huh.

CHRISTINE:  
And I'm taking Raoul.

PHANTOM:  
Uh-huh.

CHRISTINE:  
And keeping the dress.

PHANTOM:  
Sure thing…

CHRISTINE:  
Well – thanks for everything.

PHANTOM:  
Yeah. *touches cheek* Did you really just…?

RAOUL:  
Excuse me!

PHANTOM:  
Oh yeah. *breaks noose holding Raoul*

RAOUL:  
Thanks.

PHANTOM:  
Don't mention it. I mean that. Don't even think about betraying the secrets you know – of the Angel in Hell!

RAOUL:  
What secrets, the freakshow thing?

CHRISTINE:  
Freakshow?

PHANTOM:  
GO! Go now! AND LEAVE ME!

CHRISTINE:  
A little melodramatic, don't you think?

MOB IN THE DISTANCE:  
Kill the beast!

PHANTOM:  
Get out! Scoot! Shoo!

CHRISTINE:  
But…

MOB GETTING CLOSER:  
Crucify him, crucify him!

PHANTOM:  
Out, out, out! Clear the set, do you hear me?

CHRISTINE:  
Well, okay… If you insist.

The happy couple depart.

PHANTOM:  
*sob*

BARREL ORGAN IN THE SHAPE OF A MONKEY:  
*hug*

A split second later…

CHRISTINE:  
Hey, you wanna keep the ring? Raoul says he'll buy me a bigger one.

PHANTOM:  
Oh. Thanks. I guess.

CHRISTINE:  
Well – cheers. Thank you for, you know, the music… For giving it to me…

RING:  
*sparkle sadly*

PHANTOM:  
Christine, I love you…

CHRISTINE:  
It's just the afterglow.

PHANTOM:  
I love you…

CHRISTINE:  
I'll come visit. Bring you apples.

PHANTOM:  
I love you…

CHRISTINE:  
Lots of apples.

PHANTOM:  
*Sigh*

CHRISTINE:  
*Sigh*

RAOUL (from boat):  
Can we keep the monkey?

PHANTOM and CHRISTINE:  
NO!

Raoul:  
*Sigh*

They leave. The Phantom covers himself in his cloak and disappears, just as the mob arrives on the scene. There is a long, sad pause. Meg throws back the cloak to find the Phantom's chair empty. All that remains is a scrap of white on the floor, which Meg picks up reverently, and holds up to the single, intense spotlight…

MEG:  
Mother? Can I keep the mask?!


End file.
